


Rapture

by Nyxelestia



Series: Noble [1]
Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unknown man burns on the pyre for sorcerery, Merlin sees his last words give hope to a terrified people - including the Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thy Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as a fic idea that came to me in English class while watching The Crucible. It expanded from there.
> 
> If you are offended by the use of The Lord's Prayer outside of Church or formal prayer, or by the mixing of Pagan and Christian traditions, please do not read this fic. If you do, then do not take it offensively, as it was not intended as such.

_**Thy Kingdom Come  
**_

**A/N:**** So, AP English: we got to watch The Crucible (movie version) just before the test, and this little ditty was inspired by the ending and stewed in my brain during the entire test. So, came home, wrote it all down, and voila!**

**Then it blew up into this three-parter thingy that was completely beyond my control.**

…**really! My muses wear thongs to distract me and when sic the plot bunnies on me and have a whip to make sure I write them! *sobs***

**Muchos gracias to Arithilim for the beta job!**

* * *

This time, the man’s sorcery was indisputable. He had performed a mass healing and saved an entire court of people from certain, painful death.

And nearly killed himself in the process, overtaxing his magic. Except he’d lived, only to be tied to the stake, right this moment a pyre being built around him.

No one even knew his name.

Merlin swallowed as he turned away from the man, wishing he had been here when it happened – he could’ve saved this man, back then.

Now it was too late.

Arthur was down here among the commoners to watch – an open act of defiance, refusing to stand by his father for this, choosing instead to be with Morgana, Gwen, and Merlin – especially Merlin – right in front of the man.

Merlin wondered if the healer at the stake found any comfort in this. His face was too blank to tell, and it made Merlin turn even further away.

Arthur laid a subtle, calming hand on Merlin’s hip, hidden by their cloaks, and Merlin smiled sadly, knowing that for every sorcerer killed, Arthur only saw Merlin’s face on the pyre.

Bloody noble prat.

Merlin knew that it would be a while before Arthur would be able to think of anything else. Merlin usually ended up sleeping with him after these executions, so when the prince woke from his nightmares, the first thing he would see was a living, breathing Merlin, proof that his nightmares were wrong.

However, the widest waves of these executions were not in the nightmares, or the decrease in Arthur’s monster hunting expeditions that always seemed to follow sorcerer killings. No, Merlin felt Arthur’s fear the most when Arthur lit his own candles and stoked his own fire, not letting Merlin anywhere near the flames despite the fact that Merlin could do those tasks from across the rooms.

That was all Arthur could think about around these executions.

Now, tightening his cloak around himself, Merlin wondered whether the hand on his hip was for his comfort, or for Arthur’s.

Maybe both.

“This isn’t right,” Morgana hissed, before giving Merlin and Arthur a sympathetic glance, knowing Merlin was seeing his own probable fate before him.

Merlin smiled sadly, and turned to watch as the last bale of hay was tossed on the fire, as Uther voiced the man’s “crime” and sentence.

“Light the pyre!” Uther’s voice rang out.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hips in support and fear as the torches were lowered, and the pyre erupted in flames.

At first, it was not much, then smoke – so much smoke, that Merlin already had both his neckerchiefs wet and waiting for him and Arthur to hold before their faces, so’s not to breathe it in. The smoke was being blown everywhere by the same winds whipping their hair and cloaks about them, the flapping cloth a din in the people’s silence.

The man on the pyre had nothing, slumping against the stake, leaning his face into his own shoulder to try and keep his breath away from the ashen air.

Merlin didn’t know why – it would have been better for the man to die by the smoke than the flames.

Gwen was crying, and Morgana had wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders, pulling their bodies close for comfort, and Merlin knew Arthur was barely keeping himself from doing the same with Merlin.

Merlin slipped a hand over himself to cover Arthur’s.

_“Our Father who art in Heaven,”_ the man suddenly yelled out across the otherwise largely silent courtyard, making the people jump, including the royals on either side of Merlin, and the servants, themselves, watching the man face the sky.

Had the man lost his head to the smoke, so soon?

_“Hallowed be thy Name,”_ he continued.

And Arthur smiled, at the warlock’s last defiance, and at the look of fury on Uther’s face. But by his own law, he had no right to deny even a dying prisoner his last prayers. Merlin grinned, he himself, knowing the true comfort in words that sorcerers found, and just what this man found upon his pyre, his deathbed of flames.

_“Thy Kingdom come!”_ the man yelled, and no one missed that this time, his face lowered, and he stared straight at Arthur as he said this.

Arthur nodded in promise.

_“Thy will be done,”_ and now, the man’s gaze was looking towards the crowd before him, to Arthur, to Merlin, and the younger warlock wondered what he saw in Merlin, for Merlin could see no resentment, but he did find understanding, the anticipation of a dawn the man would not live to see.

_“On Earth as it is in heaven,”_ and this prompted the man to gaze back to the sky, this line less of a yell and more of a cry, his voice speaking less in desperation and more in celestial glory, a plea between the heavens and him, him alone.

_“Give us this day, our daily bread,”_ and Merlin remembered what every prisoner’s last meal was. Merlin smiled at the man, wondering if that was when he thought of saying the _Pater Noster_ the night before. _“And forgive us our trespasses.”_

And then his gaze turned to Uther, above him.

_“As we forgive those who trespass us,”_ and Merlin was shocked to realize, _feel_, that this man meant his words – he forgave Uther, already, for this.

_“And lead us not into temptation!”_ And this was delivered to Merlin, he was staring at Merlin, and now it was Merlin’s turn to make his promise, his eyes flashing gold, his magic and intention insuring that the man would see it, and no one else. The man’s face finally broke into a smile, as he looked towards Arthur.

_“And deliver us from evil.”_

With that, he turned his face to the heavens, and the smoke was being blown away by a wind Merlin could find no source of, while the flames neared the man, as the man’s voice rose.

He would have his last words, and Merlin would give him one last gift, one parting shot, for the man, for Arthur, and for himself.

His eyes flashed gold again.

The flames behind the man rose spectacularly, branching off in opposite directions, just behind the man, making the people gasp in awe as they took an impossible form, as they became wings, a vessel for something beyond this plane of reality, this world, this imagination.

Camelot’s own Angel of Avenging Fire.

Except this man would avenge none but Uther’s own mercy.

_“For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever!”_

And the flames turned white, almost blinding but not quite, and rose even more, almost as if ready to take flight, and with Merlin made the wings spread in flight as the man screamed in rapture, _“Amen!”_

With that, the wings of flame bore down, before vanishing without further lighting the pyre, the yellow flames of death still but a ring around him as he screamed in fury, in passion, in something incomprehensible to those so far removed from death and transcending.

Merlin reached into the man’s soul, and breathed, _I’m sorry_, into his heart, before ending it, pulling and cutting on the chords holding soul to blood, and with a gasp and a cry, the man’s body slumped, while under Merlin’s watchful gaze, white flames, or maybe mist, something in between, rose from the man, dissipating into the air with the smoke.

The court yard was silent, the people’s heads bowed in prayer.


	2. Thy Kingdom Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ **Scarlet Pride (Rapture: Part 2)** _

_ **Scarlet Pride (Rapture: Part 2)** _

**A/N:** ** So this is where the _hurt_ part comes in...**

* * *

Merlin lowered his head after he killed the man before him, feeling nothing at this murder of mercy. No, he felt one thing, and one thing only – Arthur’s hand tightening under his own.

“Take his body down!” Someone yelled. It sounded like a child, Merlin couldn’t be sure.

Arthur shoved Merlin aside as he surged forward, along with a few guards who had a bucket of water ready, before Uther’s voice rang out, “A flogging to anyone who tries!”

For a moment, everyone froze.

Then Arthur moved again, continuing on his course, heaving the large water vessel up from the guards.

“Arthur!” Uther yelled in rage, as his son splashed the water strategically over the ring of flames, wetting himself a path straight to the body. “This means you, too.”

Arthur ignored him, and Uther called out, “So be it on your head!”

This made Arthur look up and nod, and Merlin cannot decipher their exchange, but Uther stood back, crossing his arms, rage in his eyes as Arthur stepped through the flames, pulling the knife he always kept out of his boot and slicing the ropes about the man’s wrists, the body falling until Arthur caught it.

One arm under dead shoulders and another under dead knees, Arthur lifted the waif of a man with ease, and walked off the pyre, and with another flash of Merlin’s eyes, behind his hair under a ducked head, the ring of flames closed behind Arthur, some steam rising for Merlin to burn the wet wood, but otherwise looking natural, despite it being blatantly _not_.

Everyone and everything is silent as Arthur carried the man to the cart, originally meant to carry charred remains, but the body is only covered in soot, the clothes barely singed, if at all.

Arthur lay the man’s body down reverently, before unclasping his cloak and laying it over the man, the hood over the man’s face as he turned to the undertaker, and nodded.

The undertaker gave Arthur and analytical look, before glancing at the king, who did not respond.

With a sigh, the undertaker cracked the whip, and the crowd parted, and within moments, the body was gone.

Walking forward, Merlin draped his own cloak across Arthur’s shoulders. Merlin’s magic could keep him warm – Arthur had nothing against the pre-winter chill.

There was dead silence (huh, wasn’t _that_ ironic?), before Uther said, “Guards – seize him, and take him to the dungeons.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, but Arthur glared at him, and turned around complacently, making the cloak fall back into Merlin’s waiting arms, his hands already behind his back as the shackles were clasped over his wrists, the guards walking Arthur into the castle, and down towards the dungeons.

The prince’s eyes and chin never dropped once. They moved only when he turned his face up to give his father a look Merlin could not see, before he disappeared inside the castle.

* * *

That night, Merlin brought Arthur his food. The cook, knowing Arthur would be allowed to eat little – and maybe not even want to – had at least ensured he got the best the kitchen had to offer, even going so far as the heat and cool all foods appropriately.

No one wanted to see Arthur bleed for his kindness.

Apparently, not even the guards.

While under normal circumstances, they might have given Merlin some trouble for his actions, asking why it wasn’t a kitchen-maid or castle page bringing it, this time they easily stepped aside without a word, nodding in acknowledgement.

_No one…_

“Arthur?” Merlin said softly as the guard opened the cell door for Merlin, not even bothering to make Merlin push it through the slot.

“Mm?”

It appeared Arthur had fallen asleep in his time in the dungeons. He was leaning against the wall, head resting on his shoulder, and the awkwardness of the angle showed as he rolled his neck, that blank look on his face that meant he was refusing to show pain.

“Dinner,” Merlin said easily, holding up the plate.

Arthur raised an eye at the sight of meat, bread, and fruit that had been crammed onto the little plate, and Merlin smiled softly as he kneeled by _his_ king. Or future king, at least.

“Just for me?” Arthur asked, amused smile on his face.

Merlin grinned. “Er, she may have been hinting at me to stay with you for the meal.”

“Will the guards let you?”

“They just let me through without announcing myself formally, and didn’t say a word when they let me in.”

“They also just locked the door behind you.”

Merlin turned his head and looked, and yes, indeed, they had.

With a shrug and a smile, Merlin sat himself down more firmly, balancing the plate on his lap as he asked, “I heard the king met with you, in here, earlier today?”

Arthur nodded, taking a piece of bread for himself as he said, “My sentence will be fifteen lashes for disobeying a direct order from my king.”

The slice of steak froze on its way to Merlin’s mouth, as he stared in shock at Arthur. The prince, himself, was looking at his bread as if it held the answer to his problems.

Remembering that the sorcerer from this morning’s last meal was bread, and that Merlin personally believed he concocted his last act of defiance on the pyre last night while eating, Merlin wondered if maybe, it just _might_.

“Fifteen?!” he cried out. “That…you’ll die!”

“I won’t _die_, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Men have gotten almost twice as much and lived.”

“Not for very long afterwards!” Merlin yelped. “I…that’s…isn’t that just a tad bit _excessive_ to you?”

Arthur sighed. “It was originally supposed to be ten.”

Merlin frowned. “Then why…?”

“For refusing to apologize to him.”

He blinked, wondering at how the prince managed to live so long, and said, “Well, _that_ was smart.”

Arthur looked up from the bread and stared piercingly into Merlin’s eyes, penetrating his soul as he said, “It _was_. I have spent the first two decades of my life bending to his every will without thought. I am not going to be his little puppet, anymore!”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then spoke. “Bloody noble prat.”

Arthur rolled his eyes affectionately as he bit into the bread, before lowering his voice and asking quietly and in a far more serious tone, “How are _you_ doing?”

Merlin smiled fondly as he said, “I’m pretty sure you get more nightmares from these than I do.”

Arthur rolled his eyes again, and seemed to be pondering between the food on the plate as he finished his breath. Merlin’s eyes flashed and the meat and bread were warm again as he handed the sturdy venison to Arthur. “C’mon, you’ll need your strength, tomorrow.”

“You do know being flogged basically means kneeling in one spot, right?” Arthur said, voice amused and eyes terrified. He sighed and said, “I’ve only been flogged once in my life. I was about…sixteen? Almost seventeen, at any rate. I got into some tiff another knight, and that spiraled out of control with my father, and, well…I got three strokes for that. I’ve been multiplying it by five in my head, and…”

Merlin could see the barely suppressed shudder as he ate another grape.

“Maybe he’ll reduce it to ten if you apologize, anyway-”

“_No_,” Arthur said. “I am _not_ going to go _crawling_ to my father to beg for mercy!”

And the determination in his voice made Merlin know that this was a lost cause.

Sighing, Merlin set the plate carefully on the ground and leaned over to cup Arthur’s face in his hands, before kissing him, try to give Arthur confidence and reassurance and strength in one press of their lips.

Arthur pressed back, if only lightly, smiling as they parted as he said, “I’ll be _fine_.”

The prick knew him a bit _too_ well, at times.

* * *

Merlin shivered in the late-late-_late_-autumn chill, pulling Arthur’s cloak tight to his chest as the guards led their prince out on to the scaffold, cut the back of his shirt down the middle to bare his back, and shackled him, kneeling, to the post.

“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” Uther called out from high up, though not his balcony. “You are hereby sentenced to fifteen lashes by half-braid whip for disobeying a direct order from your king, whom you have sworn oath to.”

Arthur said nothing, the people gasped at the number, and Uther looked to the already-regretful executioner and said, “Begin.”

The whip was whistling through the air, and landed on Arthur’s back with a sharp, _CRACK._

Despite all the stories about wronged heroes keeping silent throughout this kind of punishment, and whip was painful, and already, Arthur grunted, jerking forward as a welt appeared across his back, starting from his left shoulder and lowering towards the right side of his back.

Merlin wished he knew all of them would be like this. But with a half-braid whip, half would result in welts and bruises…and half would result in scars.

He slowly moved around the scaffold, needing to see Arthur’s face.

_CRACK_

Merlin winced at the next crack as the whip connected with Arthur’s back, able to see his face as he desperately bit his lip to at least _try_ and keep silent.

_CRACK_

Another grunt, and Merlin himself swallowed thickly as he watched Arthur’s face contort with pain.

This was all so bloody _wrong_.

_CRACK_

Merlin whimpered with this grunt, nearly screwing his eyes shut, like Arthur before him.

_CRACK_

“_Nggh_…” Arthur’s grunt was a little more drawn out, this time.

Perversely, it almost sounded like the noises Arthur made when they fucked.

_CRACK_

“Ungh…” Arthur groaned, sweat layering his body, chest heaving as he struggled to breath.

_CRACK_

“Agh!” Arthur cried out, jerking forward against the post, chain rattling in line with his pain-

_CRACK_

This time, Arthur choked on whatever noise was to come out of his throat. For a moment, he stopped breathing entirely, chest movements caught in a terrifying limbo as the whip whistled through the air again.

_CRACK_

“_Argh!_” Arthur cried out. Merlin flinched back from the sound, as did many in the crowd below, watching.

_CRACK_

“Aah!” Arthur’s sharp cry drew Merlin back. He winced at the sight of blood rolling over Arthur’s shoulders and down his chest. He wondered how many of the strikes have left open scars, so far.

_CRACK_

“ARGH!” Arthur’s face contorted in agony, eyes screw shut, as Merlin’s eyes prickled with the effort to not cry, not show weakness – for Arthur.

_CRACK_

And Arthur’s scream dissolved into a single sob, his entire body shaking with it.

_CRACK_

This time, Gwen sobbed, in time with Arthur, who at this point was only being held up on his kness by the shakles on his wrists.

_CRACK_

Arthur clutched at the chains as another sob was ripped out of him-

_CRACK_

As the whip slid off his back from the last strike, Arthur whimpered and clutched the chain to hold himself up.

Arthur entire back was likely dripping blood – his front certainly was, from when the whip would curl and catch on his shoulders, his chest, his hips, and his arms. Even his chin had scarlet stain from where it had been resting against his chest as he tried to breathe himself back into calm.

Raising his face, Arthur only looked up and turned his head to turn a blank, unreadable expression upon Uther.

Even now, he would not give in.


	3. Oath In Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ **An Oath in Gold** _

_ **An Oath in Gold** _

At a nod from Uther, the guards unlocked the shackles, and Arthur slumped to the ground, half leaning on the pole, half sprawling across the ground, and Merlin could no longer find it in himself to care about the guards or protocol as he ran across the scaffold and straight to Arthur’s side.

His back was a mess – well over half a dozen gashes slid across his back, all of them dripping just a _bit_ too much blood for Merlin’s comfort. And where there weren’t gashes, the whip had left deep, red welts, which Merlin knew would bloom into horrific bruising by tonight.

“It’s okay,” Merlin murmured, as Arthur looked up at Merlin, eyes glazed over somewhat in pain. “I’m here…”

But when he was about to wring out the cloak, Arthur rasped, “_No_.”

Merlin frowned, alarmed. “It’s freezing out here-”

“Let the people see what the king has done.”

It was no longer _my father_. It was just _the king_.

And _that_ was important, even if Merlin was only half-sure how.

He nodded in reluctant agreement.

Swallowing down his objections and tears, Merlin rearranged the cloak to act like a cushion across his shoulders, and Gwen appeared, and between them, they managed to lift Arthur up, supporting _their_ king.

Personally, Merlin thought Arthur was being a prat in refusing the cloak. Politically, though, he could see how it worked – the people gasped in shock as they all got a chance to see the damage to Arthur’s back.

Uther was glaring at them both. But Arthur was smart – there was little Uther could do, now, without outright embarrassing himself.

Even in the castle, guards saluted forlornly and servants gasped and whispered among themselves as they made their way through the castle.

When an entire gaggle of servants scattered upon seeing Arthur, Merlin murmured in Arthur’s ear, “Thy kingdom come.”

Arthur nodded, as Gaius and Gwen went ahead to prepare Arthur’s rooms for treating him.

Morgana took Gwen’s place without ceremony, paying no heed to the blood as she slung her brother’s arm over her shoulder.

“This isn’t right,” she said. “This isn’t right at all.”

“So you said,” Arthur mumbled from where his head hung low, now that no one else was around. “Come up with new material.”

And Morgana grinned, as did Merlin – Arthur was still all right, if he could banter with Morgana through the pain.

“I was just testing to see how far gone you were. Apparently, not _too_ badly. Who knows, maybe now you can move up to learning how to dress yourself.”

“You’re one to talk, barely able to don a dress without Gwen’s help…” And so they bickered idly, falling back on an argument Merlin could likely recite word by word from heart.

When they reached Arthur’s rooms, Merlin sighed in relief as he saw Gaius already having several poultice pastes ready, and Gwen laying down the last layer of towels on the bed, for the blood.

They lay Arthur gently on his stomach with his head on a pillow, and he hissed at the pain, before turning his head and, as soon as the door was locked, said to Merlin, “No magic. My father will be keeping a close eye on me, and will be suspicious.”

Merlin swallowed and nodded. “I don’t like it.”

“And I do?” he retorted, dropping his head into his arms, folded around the pillow as they were. “If I heal too fast, or too well…”

Merlin nodded, before simply enchanting the water warm as Gwen started cleaning Arthur’s wounds, while Morgana pushed and poked Merlin onto the bed, tugging away the pillow from under Arthur’s head and replacing it with Merlin’s lap.

Arthur didn’t seem to mind, simply opting to wrap his arms around Merlin’s waist and settle in, jerking in pain as Gwen cleaned up all the blood, leaning into Merlin’s touch as the warlock stroked Arthur’s hair, otherwise doing little beyond spelling the water warm and clean.

Morgana kept a tight, comforting grip on Arthur’s hand as Gaius carefully applied the various herbs to Arthur’s back, the strips of linen over each one, then the padding to soak up blood later – for there would be more.

Lastly, Merlin had to help Arthur up carefully for them to wrap the last of the bandages around his entire torso, while Gwen removed the bloodied towels. His face was deathly white and pinched in pain he would never actually admit to being in, and he sighed in relief when he was able to lay back down again, arms wrapping around Merlin again.

“I didn’t foresee this,” Morgana said. “I had a dream about an angel being burned at the stake, but not _this_.”

“Arthur’s never been particularly predictable,” Merlin offered with a wry, fond smile. The rest smiled in return, while Arthur snorted into the flesh of Merlin’s thigh.

“Well,” Gaius said, as he gathered together his supplies, again. “These wounds are healing nicely, sire. Merlin, you know how to fix it if anything goes wrong. Good day.”

And with an almost mourning look on his face as he glanced at Arthur’s back, Gaius left the room. Gwen helped stoke the fire, as Arthur didn’t seem ready to let go of Merlin just yet, and Morgana helped get Arthur’s lower body under the covers, and she stopped by Arthur’s head when she was done.

Reaching out and stroking his neck, she said quietly, “Next time…well, let’s pray that there isn’t a next time. Just…just get better, Arthur – I mean it.”

Smiling dopily, Arthur nodded in agreement as Morgana left, Gwen shutting the door behind her, and soon, it was just Merlin, still running his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

For a while, they remained there in silence, before Arthur mumbled, “It was worth it, you know.”

Merlin frowned, fingers freezing for a moment, until Arthur made a noise in protest that prompted Merlin back into the action, almost entirely subconsciously.

“What was?”

“That man. You. All of it.”

Merlin sighed. “Arthur, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be all right.”

“That man wasn’t.”

“He healed an entire court right in front of Uther’s eyes.”

“And you know that you would’ve done the same,” Arthur said. He sighed. “I was _glad_ that the man died – that it was him, and not you. I know I probably shouldn’t, but…”

Merlin didn’t respond.

“I…” Arthur sighed, burying his face into the inside of Merlin’s thigh, taking a deep breath, then turning his head to crane his neck up at Merlin, again. “You’re worth this.”

“But it wasn’t for me,” Merlin said, sighing.

“When I’m king,” Arthur said, laying his head back down. “I’m going to make this right. I’ll lift the ban on magic, and make you Court Sorcerer…and Morgana will be Court Seer, or maybe Prophet? Prophesier? No, forget it, just Court Seer, that’ll be good…”

Merlin smiled as Arthur continued his mumbled raving, leaning back against the prince’s mountain of pillows.

“_Mer_lin!”

Merlin looked down with an amused smirk – Arthur had caught him drifting off.

“Yes?”

Arthur tugged one arm free and patted the space beside him on the bed, and Merlin complied, slipping under the covers so Arthur could drape himself atop Merlin, pressing his face into Merlin’s neck, the boys wrapping their arms around each other as Arthur said, “Morgana was right – this _isn’t_ right.”

“And you’ll fix it when you’re king,” Merlin said. “For now, just focus on getting better, hm?”

“Fine,” Arthur said. “And you’ll help me fix it as Court Sorcerer…”

Merlin smiled and nodded, not even having to turn his head and look as his eyes flashed gold, instantly putting out all the candles while stoking the fire up a little to add to the warmth. As usual, Arthur growled at Merlin using his magic for this.

“I’m not even _near_ the flames!” Merlin protested.

Arthur just huffed into Merlin’s neck, and Merlin smiled fondly, bringing his hand back up to stroke Arthur’s hair. “Bloody noble prat.”

“You said tha’, already,” Arthur mumbled, being lulled to sleep by the quickly warming room and Merlin’s attentions to his scalp.

“Well it bears saying again,” Merlin said.

“You’re one to talk,” Arthur groused, and Merlin laughed as Arthur continued with, “Apparently, we’re both a bit too noble for our own goods. But it’s _required_ of me! You just do it to try and kill me from terror every other week.”

“If I’m to be Court Sorcerer, one day, shouldn’t I hold myself to the same standards as that of high nobility?”

“Not if it gets you nearly killed all the time,” Arthur said, before nipping at the skin below his lips.

Merlin smiled as Arthur’s lips tickled, slightly, before saying, “Ah, but see, I never get _actually_ killed, just _nearly_ killed.”

Arthur grunted and nipped at Merlin again, “There isn’t much of a difference.”

“…erm, Arthur? Dead versus alive is a _big_ difference.”

“Not in how much you terrify me when you do something stupid,” Arthur growled.

“That’s just payback for all the stupid things _you_ get into,” Merlin said, tone serious despite the playful words.

Arthur scoffed and used what little leverage he had to pull Merlin closer, tightening his grip and curling his hands around Merlin’s thin frame even more.

“…so we’re both idiots?” Merlin tried a moment later, and Arthur laughed.

“I guess so. I think Morgana may have a point in the possibility of both of us getting ourselves killed before I’m king.”

“I thought that was Gwen?”

“No, she thinks we’ll kill _each other_ before I’m king.”

“Same difference.”

Another laugh, a hiss as the laughter pulled at Arthur’s back, and then more chuckles as he calmed down. “I guess…”

“Considering how good Gaius and Uther are at their jobs, we’ll have a _lot_ of time to think through these things,” Merlin offered. “Let’s just make it to your kingship and work our way from there.”

Arthur sighed, nodded, and craned his neck as Merlin leaned down and pressed their lips together, sealing their promises with a kiss.


End file.
